


On Settling

by chaserzachsmith



Series: Generally Useless Ravenclaws [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, a rambling post-canon fic in the spirit of equity, probably only appeals to like 4 people in the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 15:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14876040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaserzachsmith/pseuds/chaserzachsmith
Summary: Michael takes the long, rambling, obsessive road to adulthood.





	On Settling

Just after Michael turns twenty-six he asks for the first time if Susan wants to marry him. He is not the sort of person to really rush into a decision (or, at least, he isn’t anymore) and they have been together for seven years. It seems like a reasonable time, at least. They are mature enough to deal with the added stress. 

But she says no, and he’s fine with that.

At this point in their lives, getting married would only mean a party and a certificate-- they don’t want children yet and they already live together. And as far as Michael’s aware they’ve gone through most of the hallmarks of marriage already. They have discussed redoing the kitchen. They have discussed getting a dog. They have discussed having children. The sex is no longer exciting. (Not that it’s bad.)

He asks again when they are twenty-nine. This time she gives him a reason. It’s an understandable one- she’s not ready to end her family tree yet. She is the last remaining Bones and she wants to cling to it. 

“It’s not like I don’t understand,” he says pensively. He and his friends are having coffee together at an outdoor table at a cafe in London; he is squinting but the sun is still too bright for comfort. “I mean, I think I do.”

The truth is that Susan takes far more pride in her family name than he thinks he ever will, and so he knows he doesn’t understand. But he wishes he did.

“It’s fine not to,” Terry tells him. “You want something she doesn’t. There’s no shame in that.”

“I guess,” says Michael. 

When they are thirty he asks again. This time without the ceremony and without the planning- it pops out on accident while they are lying drowsily in bed, half asleep and totally content.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” she says. 

“Alright,” says Michael shortly. Then he feels like a dick. “The offer stands, whenever you’re ready to take it,” he adds, and threads his fingers through hers, between them on the covers. 

“I know,” says Susan.

* * *

Across the table, Terry takes a wary sip of coffee, then sets his cup down again, making a pained face. Even though it’s burning his lips and tongue, Michael takes a pointedly long sip, just to rub it in.

“Show-off,” says Terry. 

“Ponce,” says Michael. It is moments like this that make him appreciate his pain tolerance. Even if he’d gotten it in decidedly unpleasant ways- stepping on broken glass and falling out of trees and tripping down stairs and being tortured in front of all his classmates and the likes- he is happy to throw it in Terry’s face. 

“Dick,” says Terry. 

Michael waits a few seconds to let Terry forget that he’s mad, then: “Did your standards go down when you grew up?”

“No,” says Terry. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when I was sixteen I wanted to be happily married with kids and a good job by this age,” says Michael. “I kind of expected to be at least engaged by the time I was thirty.”

“You wanted to be happily married with a good job,” echoes Terry. He takes a sip of coffee. “That was stupid of you.”

“I was sixteen,” says Michael.

“I mean, if anything, my standards are higher since I was sixteen,” says Terry. He stretches his legs in front of him. “I mean, back then I just wanted sex. Now I’ve got taste.”

“That’s why you’re single,” says Michael.

* * *

The week after Hogwarts starts again, Susan sits across from him at the breakfast table and tells him that she is pregnant. There is a long pause, and then Michael says, “We aren’t married,” as though either of them needs the reminder. 

“I know,” says Susan. “I thought you deserved to know anyway.”

“What do you want to do?” says Michael. 

“I don’t know,” says Susan. She almost always knows; Michael waits patiently and soon enough she admits, “I want a baby.”

“We can get married,” he offers.

She doesn’t say no, but she doesn’t say yes either. He squeezes her hand and takes it as an answer. 

“What do you say we have a baby?” he says.

* * *

Years ago, Anthony had come into their lunch date with the Quibbler under one arm and announced that he was no longer the family disappointment. 

Michael, who had turned in his laurels the year before when his sister had gotten her nose pierced, had asked what Anthony’s sister had done. (Anthony had a brother, too, but Eric Goldstein was about as likely as a goldfish to commit a dramatic social faux pas.)

It had been a boyfriend, as it always seems to be. Miriam’s boyfriend had been an unemployed Protestant actor with a ponytail; it seems that Michael’s girlfriend is going to be an up-and-coming attorney from one of the oldest and best respected Wizarding families in Britain. 

“That might endear you to my mum,” he says, without much conviction. His mother can no longer pretend that Michael has never had premarital sex, so there is nearly nothing that will endear Susan to her.

“Oh, it won’t,” says Susan. The eleven years they've been dating have given her a working understanding of Michael's mum.

In the afternoon Susan proposes quietly that they have an abortion. “I know what your mother’s going to say,” she says. He can tell that she’s watching him, but he doesn’t quite return her gaze. “And I know you’re going to care.”

It’s an honestly appealing prospect. Nobody would know, and they could continue their not-marriage in peace. They aren’t fucking around with anybody’s family values yet. At least not in the open. 

“Hey,” says Michael. “It’d take some of the steam off of Lauren and her nose ring, right?”

So sue him, maybe he wants a baby too.

Susan scoffs a laugh and pats his hand. “I think there’s a difference between nose rings and illegitimate children.”

“There was a difference between a nose ring and eighteen-year-old me,” he points out. “Remember I was the original disappointment.”

“What did you do?” says Susan.

“I did a lot,” says Michael, which is only partly true. Most of his crimes had been things like “having opinions” and “having emotions,” up until he’d turned eighteen, joined a student militia, gotten both legs blown off, spent ten months skiving out of school, and flunked all his classes. 

“Right,” says Susan. “The original bad boy.”

“And don’t forget it,” mumbles Michael, turning a page in his book.

* * *

It is 2010 and it is a year of massive change. Professor McGonagall leaves Professor Sprout in charge of Hogwarts and Neville finally becomes a professor. Michael is told never to take part in any party planning, ever again. And, of course, the baby. 

It is not fun telling his parents. His mother gasps and has to leave the room; his father congratulates Susan and gives Michael an accusatory “You Knocked Up A Girl And You Will Hear More About It Later” look, and Michael avoids letting himself and his father alone together for three months and thus does not hear more about it later.

It is fun telling his sister. She congratulates him and forces him to bump his fist against hers. She is eighteen years old and considering getting a tattoo; he tells her to hurry up and do it while their parents are still fixated on the baby. 

It is not fun telling his best friends. Terry slaps him on the back and says “I can’t believe you have the most ironclad excuse to get married and she still won’t do it.” Anthony pats him on the shoulder and says, “She’s going to get really, really moody. Have fun.”

* * *

He tells his girlfriend that he is ready to have children. Even a bastard. They are a good couple- it has been over a decade and they are happy together and they have not yet run out of things to talk about or things to learn about each other. They make enough money. Susan’s family’s house is big enough. They are mature enough.

“I’ve read books,” he tells Susan in the bathroom as he’s shaving. He tilts his head to the side to get under his chin and she applies her lipstick.

“Of course you have,” she says a moment later, leaning into the mirror and smudging carefully at the corner of her mouth. 

“And I think we’ve got stuff under control,” he says. They have childproofed their kitchen; they have rearranged their furniture. They have purchased a crib and a few toys and blankets and Michael is knitting a baby hat. They have discussed their philosophies on parenthood. They have started saving up.

“Yeah, I think so too,” says Susan, and she pats him fondly on the head on her way out.

He tells his friends that he is ready to have children. He is thirty and he is well-adjusted and mature. Why wouldn’t he be ready to have children? 

“Are you sure?” says Terry doubtfully. Terry has already proposed that Michael has “daddy issues” and Michael has already shut down that line of conversation.

“Of course I am,” says Michael. “I’m thirty years old.”

This is a bullshit, faulty reason but they accept it without question, maybe unwilling to start an argument. His sister does not.

“Anthony is thirty too,” she says. “And he’s a mess. He hasn’t got anything together.”

“Anthony is twenty-nine,” says Michael. It is the only thing she’s said that he can argue with.

His first impression of his sister had been when he was twelve and she was an infant and he had loathed her. She was noisy and smelly and moist and needed constant attention, and he was twelve and jealous and immature and also needed constant attention. 

You can see why this would have led to conflict. 

Now that he is not twelve and she is not an infant they get on much better. And she’s the only person who understands his parenthood woes. After all, she’d had the same parents. “I think you’re fretting over nothing,” says Lauren. “Terry doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

This is true, unfortunately. Sometime when they were teenagers Michael had stopped telling Terry and Anthony about the occasional good things his parents did for him, and they'd both developed a much lower opinion of his parents than was really deserved. “He’s got a point though,” he says. “I don’t know that I know how to be a functional parent.”

“Sure you do,” says Lauren. “You’ve read books, haven’t you?” She flicks him on the arm, much harder than she probably meant to.

Michael knows that Lauren thinks he is full of stupid and judgey opinions about Gryffindors; this is the first time he’s confirmed that she’s full of stupid and judgey opinions about Ravenclaws.

* * *

They have taken to going round in a circle and saying whatever is new for them. It is depressing- there is rarely anything new for anyone. They have had the same jobs for years, and his friends’ romances are fleeting and rare, and nobody has picked up any hobbies.

“She’s very pregnant,” says Michael, when Anthony has finished describing in painful detail a nightmare ice-cream buyer. “I dunno what else there is.” Most of the updates on his life are like this, and have been since January. Susan doesn’t sleep well, which means Michael doesn’t sleep well. Susan doesn’t drink, which means Michael doesn’t drink. Susan eats weird things, which means Michael eats weird things. Today she made them dill pickles and pancakes for breakfast. 

“She is very pregnant,” agrees Terry. “I saw her last night.”

“Uh-huh,” says Michael.

“And how’re you?” says Terry. “You, not Susan.”

Michael shrugs. He is doubting his ability to raise a child and worrying that he’s not emotionally attuned enough to be a good parent. He has spent the week trying to analyze his relationship with his father and his unfortunate personality to see if either is redeemable. He lies awake at night trying to decide if he has an accurate view of himself. Normal things.

“He’s having another parenting crisis,” guesses Anthony.

Sometimes Michael hates Anthony.

“Daddy issues,” says Terry sagely.

“Redundant,” says Anthony to Terry. “That was implicit in what I said.”

Sometimes Michael hates Terry, too.

* * *

Once the baby is born Michael’s mother decides suddenly that she does in fact like Susan. The baby is only a few hours old by the time Michael’s parents and sister are crowding him and his poor exhausted girlfriend. 

“Who is your grandmama,” says his mother, as Michael sits holding Susan’s hand. His father looks almost as tender as Michael’s ever seen him; his sister is chewing gum. “That’s me,” says Michael’s mum. “I’m your grandmama. I’m your grandma.”

He lets his mother do her obligatory cooing over the baby and then lets his sister make her obligatory remarks on how small the baby is and then kicks everyone out of the room and sits trying to hold the baby the way his mum had, rocking back and forth and back and forth.

Her name is Julia and she is kind of ugly and moist and still very red. Michael has never loved something so much. She squints at him and starts to cry.

“Give her here,” says Susan, and he hands her over. 

“She’s got your smile, I think,” he says, and Susan laughs.

* * *

The nicest thing that Michael’s parents had ever done for him had been in the month after the Battle, while he was still laid up in St. Mungo’s. While the rest of the wizarding world was trying to rebuild the school and undo the bureaucratic damage to the Ministry and empty Azkaban of innocent people and bring the Muggleborns out of hiding, his father had been painstakingly moving everything in Michael’s bedroom downstairs. 

Of course, Michael’s dad’s study was smaller than Michael’s room, so when Michael had finally gotten out of hospital to see it, it was very much a bastardized version of his old bedroom. His dressers had been stacked to save floor space, his bike was on its hind wheel in the corner, everything on the shelf by the door had been stacked in front of his books instead, the posters were crowding the window. 

“Well we can get rid of the bike,” he had said, because he'd have started crying otherwise.

He had spent a lot of the first few months after the battle wallowing in self-pity. At the time he’d felt sort of entitled to it. The truth, though, was that even in the three weeks he’d spent in the hospital doing nothing but imagining his life without legs, he hadn’t remembered that his room was on the second floor of his house. And he's glad his parents had.

* * *

They have two more children, and in 2015 when Julia is four and Nathan is almost two and the baby is four months old, all three of them (and Susan) come down with a bad fever and, when he thinks it can’t get any worse, a stomach bug. 

It is a hellish forty-eight hours; by the time Nathan’s fever finally breaks and Michael can relax a little bit he is nearly as sweaty as any of his family. He sits at the table with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows and goes through the mail and Susan says from the couch, “They’re asleep.”

“Go to sleep, Sue,” he says. “I’ll tuck them in.”

She pops her head up and rests her chin on the back of the sofa to look at him; he swivels his chair a little and looks back at her. “I’ll make you soup,” he offers.

“You should get some rest too,” she says. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

Michael grimaces in answer and she laughs and waves him over. He hoists himself onto the sofa next to her. They are uncomfortable and sweaty and smelly and tired; he closes his eyes and leans into her side and she says, drowsily, “Are we done having kids? I think we’re done.”

He reopens his eyes and looks across the room at the toddlers on the other couch, asleep. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I'm good.”

“How about marrying me?” she says, adjusting the baby in her arms.

“Mmph,” says Michael, closing his eyes again. “Gladly.”

* * *

When Michael is thirty-six he gets married, ten full years after the first time he’d proposed. Susan had said it was a shame to let the day go unremembered, even if she hadn’t accepted it at the time, and even though they have to throw the wedding together in a matter of months they do so gladly. 

Twenty years ago Michael had wanted so many things out of his life. He thought as he grew up he had learned how to settle for what he had, but when he is married he can’t help but think that he hasn’t settled at all.

Sure, the band cancels at the last minute and they have to make Anthony play the march and he fucks up the penultimate chord because he’d only gotten to practice once, and Michael at the front of the room watches as the entire wedding party cringes. And Michael gets frosting on his jacket and Susan’s hair gets frizzy under the veil. 

And at the end of the night half of their guests are drunk and he’s had his prosthetics on too tight for too long and he’s got two children asleep on his lap making it impossible to move or get comfortable. Sure he has had a mess of a wedding and sure he is going to have to live with that. Still, “I don’t think I settled,” he says. 

“Course you don’t,” says Terry morosely. Of all of them, Terry is probably the one whose life is going the least like he’d thought it would at sixteen. He is halfway drunk right now and it makes him melancholy.

“I mean it,” he says. Susan turns to hand him the baby before it drools on her dress, looks at Nathan and Julia drooling on his dress robes, and hands him off to Hannah instead. 

“Mean what?” she says. 

“I mean I’m happy,” he says. “Totally, blissfully, completely happy.”

“Redundant,” remarks Anthony, who is pedantic when he’s drunk. 

Michael uses one finger to smudge drool off of Julia’s chin. “Maybe,” he says. 

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I know what I said, and at the time I said it, I really meant it! I intended fully to leave the story (such as it was) there. But after Anthony had worked himself out, and when I was starting to draft something in which Terry figures himself out in the background, I felt a little mean for not giving anything like that to Michael, who has a lot to figure out.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
